


sharing different heartbeats in one night

by 152glasslippers



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, I wanted to indulge in Ser Mom feels, Love Confessions, Major Character Injury, POV Multiple, Post-Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, but only a little bit of angst because Brienne is fine, so I wrote this, unexplained nonlethal abdominal injuries are their own trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:55:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24706432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/152glasslippers/pseuds/152glasslippers
Summary: “You both need to eat. And bathe. Arya and I will look after Ser Brienne in the meantime.” She can see Podrick biting his tongue. Jaime opens his mouth to protest. “That’s an order, Ser Jaime.” He narrows his eyes at her, and something in her softens in the face of his disdain. “She would not want you to neglect yourself.”Post-8x03 AU. Brienne is injured during the Battle of Winterfell. Her family sits vigil at her bedside.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 15
Kudos: 199





	sharing different heartbeats in one night

**Day 1: Tyrion**

His first thought upon entering the room is that Brienne of Tarth looks small.

A frightening notion.

Neither Jaime nor Podrick greet him as he approaches the bed. He hasn’t seen Jaime since his brother was declared in good health—bruises, nothing more—twelve hours ago.

“Any change?”

“No,” Jaime says flatly.

“Well…that’s to be expected at this stage, isn’t it?” No response. “I take it neither of you have eaten.” Still no response. “They’re serving supper in the great hall. Podrick, why don’t you get yourself something to eat?”

Podrick tears his eyes away from Brienne, smart enough to know when he’s being dismissed. He looks to Jaime, who nods. He stands, bows slightly to Tyrion.

“Thank you, milord. I’ll bring you something to eat, ser,” he says to Jaime.

“Thank you, Podrick.” Eyes still on Brienne.

The door closes behind Podrick with a small thump, and Tyrion climbs into his empty chair. Brienne looks even worse from this angle, the light from the fire catching the bruises on her jaw, her temple, stark against her pale skin.

“I know what you’re going to say.”

Tyrion looks at Jaime, surprised.

“Do enlighten me.”

“I’m being too obvious. Sitting at her bedside…” Jaime frowns. “It doesn’t look good.”

“Maybe it doesn’t. But we just survived an undead army; I think we’ve all earned a grace period.” He hesitates before asking, “How long have you been in love with her?”

“I realized it the day I sent her to find Sansa Stark.”

His answer is immediate. Tyrion raises his eyebrows. It’s much earlier than he was expecting.

“And yet you stayed with our sweet sister.”

Jaime sighs.

“I could say it was for the children, but the truth is, right then I didn’t know how to be anything other than Cersei’s creature. Or I was scared that I did know. Either way.” He sighs again, finally meeting Tyrion’s eyes. “Eventually, it was just for the children, but…then they were gone, and I was still there, and I didn’t know what I was doing anymore.”

“Until Ser Brienne scolded you at the Dragonpit.”

Jaime smiles, a lopsided grin Tyrion recognizes from childhood, full of mirth. He sobers as his gaze shifts back to Brienne.

“I would do anything for her.”

“There was a time when you said that about Cersei,” Tyrion says quietly, “and it nearly cost you everything.”

He watches Jaime carefully, anxious of his answer.

“Brienne would never ask anything of me that would dishonor me.”

Tyrion laughs, hardly daring to believe it.

“Then you’ve found it.”

Jaime looks at him, lost.

“What?”

“Real love.”

**Day 2: Sansa**

Ser Jaime is slumped over in a chair at her sworn sword’s bedside, fast asleep.

Idly, she wonders when he became _Ser_ Jaime to her. She suspects Brienne is to blame.

She steps further into the room, carefully avoiding the sight of Brienne’s unnaturally still form. Not until she and Arya are alone.

“Ser Jaime.” He doesn’t stir. “Ser Jaime,” she calls, louder.

He jolts awake, turning toward the sound of her voice. He sits up straight when he sees her.

“Lady Sansa. Lady Arya. Well met.”

Arya rolls her eyes and kicks Podrick Payne’s chair where he’s sitting, also asleep, on the other side of Brienne’s bed. He blinks, confusion evident on his face, before standing in a hurry, red faced and mumbling, “Milady. Milady.”

“You both need to eat. And bathe. Arya and I will look after Ser Brienne in the meantime.” She can see Podrick biting his tongue. Jaime opens his mouth to protest. “That’s an order, Ser Jaime.” He narrows his eyes at her, and something in her softens in the face of his disdain. “She would not want you to neglect yourself.”

He deflates, glances back at Brienne, and stands.

“As you say, milady.”

He nods at Podrick, who follows him to the door. He turns back, a somber look in his eyes, no trace of the careless, arrogant lion.

“If anything changes—”

“We’ll come find you, Lannister.” Arya cuts him off, but her voice lacks its usual bite. “Don’t worry.”

Podrick closes the door behind them, and she, Arya, and Brienne are alone.

Sansa takes Ser Jaime’s vacant seat, and Arya folds herself on the bed next to Brienne’s feet. The linens rise and fall gently with each of Brienne’s breaths, the only sign she’s still alive. She tries to concentrate on that tiny movement instead of the growing fear clawing at her gut.

She doesn’t want to mourn another death.

The fire crackles in the fireplace. Arya doesn’t say anything, just curls her left hand around Brienne’s ankle.

“She feels like a mother sometimes,” Sansa says into the silence. A whispered confession. “I know she’s doing her duty, keeping a promise, but…” She takes a deep breath. “Sometimes it feels like having a mother again.”

“A mother and a father,” Arya agrees. She grins at her. “Mother never would have sparred with me.”

Sansa returns her smile, but Arya’s face falls.

“She’ll wake up, won’t she?” Her voice is so small; suddenly, she’s ten years younger. Sansa reaches for Arya’s open hand, takes Brienne’s in the other. This much she knows:

“If anyone could wake up after all this, it’s her.”

**Day 3: Jaime**

Brienne wakes for the first time three days after collapsing in his arms.

Her breathing changes—a deeper, sharper inhale than he’s heard in those three days—and her brow furrows, and that’s how he knows. A moment later, she opens her eyes.

She blinks at the ceiling for a moment before shifting her head on the pillow, trying to figure out where she is, no doubt. Jaime leans forward in his chair, and that’s when she sees him.

He’s so relieved to see her eyes again it’s painful.

“Ser Jaime.” Her voice is hoarse. He missed the sound of it so much he aches.

“Brienne.”

“What happened?”

“You were injured at some point during the battle; we don’t know when. You lost a lot of blood. You’ve been asleep nearly since the battle ended.”

“Are you alright?”

He’s just delivered news of a life-threatening injury, and her first inquiry is after his health. He wants to laugh, or cry. His love for her has no limit.

“I’m fine.”

“Podrick?”

“Also fine. Lady Sansa, Lady Arya. All fine.”

She nods, a small, slow movement. Every word seems to take an extraordinary effort.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Three days.”

“Then why am I still tired?”

He smiles at the irritation in her voice. Always dependable, his Brienne.

“Samwell Tarly said that might happen. Don’t fight it.”

“Do you need to send for him?”

“I will in a minute.”

Her eyes fall shut on a long blink.

“I may not be awake in a minute.”

“All the more reason not to waste it.”

She smiles faintly, a slight curve of her mouth. Her eyes are still closed, and fear overtakes him. He doesn’t want this to be the last time he speaks with her. Tarly said if she woke just once, the odds were good she would wake again and be well, but he feels desperate to ensure it.

“Your wound is clean; it hasn’t turned. You need only rest to make a full recovery.” He sounds like he’s pleading, and he supposes he is.

_Live. Please live._

Another slow nod. Her fingers flex against the bedsheets, and he hastens to place his hand in hers. She squeezes his fingers lightly.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promises.

Her breathing evens out, and she’s asleep.

**Day 4: Brienne**

Her body feels different the second time she wakes. Alert, ready. Not to do much more than open her eyes, but she feels less like she’s dragging herself through the mud just to form a coherent thought.

Jaime is still there like he promised, asleep in the chair next to her bed, folded over at the waist, his head resting on his arms a few inches from her hand. Close enough to touch. He’s not wearing the gold hand, his wrist covered with purple-red bruises. His hair is so much darker than when she met him, but he looks young like this, even with the gray creeping in at his temples. She reaches out, sifts her fingers through the strands falling over his eyes, brushing them away from his forehead. She gives herself a minute, two, before she lets her hand fall back to the bed.

“Jaime.” Her voice is still rough. She tries again. “Jaime.”

His eyes open slowly. He seems reluctant to lift his head—until he sees her watching him.

“Brienne.” Her heart clenches at the sight of that smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty,” she answers honestly. “Can I sit up?”

He stands to help her, pours her a cup of water once she’s upright. She’s better afterward, more like herself. Jaime takes the cup from her and sits back down.

“How long was I asleep this time?”

“Only a day. You remember waking up?” She nods. “That’s good. Sam said there was a chance you might—”

The door opens quietly, and Jaime stops short as Podrick walks in, arms full of firewood, eyes on his feet as he steps around the door and closes it carefully. The latch catches with a soft click. He turns around and finally sees her.

“Mum!”

The firewood clatters to the ground. Podrick rushes to the bed and throws his arms around her neck.

“Mum.”

She looks at Jaime, bewildered, but he’s watching them with an expression on his face she can’t read, so she closes her eyes, puts her doubts and her shock out of her mind, and wraps her arms around Podrick. If she’s been asleep four days, it’s the longest they’ve gone without each other since they set out from King’s Landing.

“It’s alright. I’m alright.” He’s trembling a little. “And you? No injuries?”

“None, ser.”

She smiles to hear it, even though she already knew.

“Well done, Pod.”

She holds tight as long as he does, until he loosens his grip he pulls away from her to retrieve the scattered firewood and move it to the hearth. He straightens and looks at Jaime.

“Have you sent for the maester yet, ser?”

“No, not yet.”

“I’ll go now.” He looks at Brienne again. “It’s good to see you awake, ser.”

“Thank you, Podrick,” and he leaves as soundlessly as he entered.

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” Jaime says, breaking the silence that follows.

“My entire life has been proof I’m ill-suited to motherhood.”

Jaime frowns.

“I don’t think that’s true. You raised him.”

“He was hardly a boy when I met him.”

“No. But he’s a man now. He’s hardly left this room; he loves you.” Jaime shifts his gaze to his lap. “And we almost lost you.” He raises his eyes again, and the agony there steals her breath from her lungs. “There was a chance you’d never wake. I thought I’d never hear your voice again. Look into your eyes again, or watch you blush.” Her face heats, right on cue. He smiles. “Yes, just like that.” The light in his eyes changes, and she can see the mischief there before she hears it in his tone. “I thought I might never have the chance to annoy you again, or beat you in a spar again.”

“You have never once beat me.”

“See, that? That look of total exasperation mixed with blind outrage? I would have missed that the most.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Jaime…”

“That’s the second time you’ve done that.”

“Done what?”

“Used my name without my title.”

Another blush. “You called me Brienne.”

“Yes, but you’re much more proper than I am. Will you say it again?”

He says it so easily, that practiced nonchalance, but so completely at odds with the way he’s looking at her. Tender and heated. Intense, yet vulnerable. She feels on the edge of something.

“Please?” he whispers. “Please, Brienne.”

She closes her eyes. She can’t look at him when he sees right through her. Everything she feels for him is about to come tumbling out of her mouth on his name.

“Jaime,” she breathes.

The bed shifts next to her, and when she opens her eyes, he’s there.

“I love you. I should have told you the moment I arrived in Winterfell. I should have told you years ago, at Riverrun. Before that, even. I love you. As I’ve never loved anyone.”

A tear slides down her cheek, and Jaime brings his hand to her face, wipes it away with his thumb.

“Am I really awake?”

He huffs a laugh, leans forward until his forehead is pressed to hers.

“Yes.”

Then—

“I love you.” Jaime’s soft inhale is almost a gasp. He pulls back just enough to meet her eyes. “I love you.”

He’s indiscriminately pleased. Happy. She can’t remember the last time she saw him truly happy. If she’s ever seen him truly happy.

This time, the request is uttered against her lips.

“Say it again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ❤️
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://152glasslippers.tumblr.com/)


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